


Skin Deep

by StarsGarters



Series: MCU AUs [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, kink meme fill, rumlow is a bag of dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pseudo-fill for the prompt Horrible Hydra Husbands. I'm sorry in advance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Deep

Only the promise of a cold beer and endless hot wings at the end of the ordeal kept Jack Rollins hauling boxes to the moving truck. Endless boxes full of random knick-knacks, magazines and vinyl records, which were heavier than you'd think. This wasn't even _his_ shit. "Next time, we're hiring movers." The old storage unit was almost empty.

"Oh fuck that! We've got good strong backs and movers can't be trusted. They're all thieves." Brock Rumlow sneezed at the dust rising from a pile of old National Geographics. "And I promised you food afterwards. All the disgusting blue cheese dressing you could hope for served by broke-ass college girls in too tight t-shirts. Because you refuse to go to the strip clubs with me." Brock grabbed a shelving support and did a little bump and grind, mimicking a pole-dancer and laughed too hard at his own antics.

Jack rolled his eyes. Strippers did nothing for him, but Brock could dance like that all day if he wanted to...

Jack shook himself out of his reverie. The tape on the bottom of the box gave way and the contents scattered on the ground. "Motherfucking Christ on a cracker..." He stooped and started to pick up the contents when his eyes fell upon a photograph. It was Brock, obviously two sheets to the wind cheeks flushed and hair mussed, kissing a young man on the cheek. The stranger looked as if he stepped out of an ad for expensive cologne. He was utterly beautiful with dark hair and perfect teeth. His fingers were wound in Brock's t-shirt possessively.

"Hey Brock?" Jack swallowed hard. 

"Yeah? Motherfucker!" Brock cursed as he smashed his finger underneath a box. "Gotta bring gloves next time."

"Who is this?" Jack held up the picture and tried not to act like an insecure prick. They weren't  _exclusive_ , not that like that. 

"Oh. That's the _ex_. Well, one of them, anyways." Brock taped up a cardboard box. "Grant Ward."

Jack couldn't help it, he touched the scar on his face and asked, "He's really _something special_. Why did you two break up?"

Brock took off his shirt and mopped the sweat off his face with it. Just to remind Jack that _he_ was something special too. "Because he was a lousy lay."

"Really?" Jack crooked his eyebrow in disbelief. 

"Yeah. He was the most _boring_ bottom ever. He thought he could just rest on his laurels, just be attractive and charming. Well, I eat attractive and charming for breakfast. It got so _boring_. Then when I tried to spice things up, he called me abusive and demanding. Accused me of only wanting someone brainwashed to fuck. And he might have been right, there's something to be said for having it be someone's first time over and over again." Brock yawned. "I think he was jealous of my being the handler. And all the privileges that implies."

"How'd you end it?" 

"I fucked him one last time and during it, I called him by someone else's name." Brock grinned, proud of his cleverness and malice. 

Jack whistled and shook his head. "That's a real dick move." 

"Seems to work every time I do it." Brock sidled up to Jack, looked him dead in the eyes and licked his lips. Then he started to pantomime an explosive orgasm. "Oh, oh, oh fucking yes. Oh oh _whatever the hell your name is_ _..."_ Brock looked up at Jack and winked. _  
_

Jack had to look away. He picked up another box and loaded it into the truck. "Tell me Brock, exactly how many times have you been punched in the face during sex?"

Brock picked up the photograph and looked at it for a moment. "This month?  _Twice."_

"It's only the fourth of the month." 

"Guess I'm not trying hard enough." He flipped the photo into the storage unit, turned off the light and pulled the gate down. The latch rattled and closed with a click. 


End file.
